


Fraternization

by e_skah_pay



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Author, Canon Asexual Character, Fluff, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), We got some very..... shall we say Jon-like descriptions of kissing in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25396402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_skah_pay/pseuds/e_skah_pay
Summary: A very small and soft scene set the morning after Safehouse Arrival. For right now, we are okay.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 239





	Fraternization

**Author's Note:**

> Is this where I make a joke about how Jonathan Sims turned me ace? Anyway here's 2000 words of him expressing all of his thoughts about intimacy, which are coincidentally also my thoughts about intimacy.

Jon woke up warm, to the sound of birds and silence and the most distant cowbells imaginable. It was pleasant, if a bit jarring after the nightmares. Then again, he’d gotten so used to the nightmares he’d moved past neutrality and could see how he might enjoy them if he let himself. 

Which he wouldn’t, of course. He owed himself that much. 

What he _could_ enjoy was this soft awakening, wrapped in blankets and curled up into-

Oh. 

He pulled back a bit, perhaps too suddenly, because Martin breathed in sharply and blinked his eyes open. “Good morning,” he said, and then frowned at Jon, who tried very hard to school his expression back into something respectable.

Judging by the way Martin was looking at him, he was failing utterly. His nose was crinkled, just a little bit. Martin Blackwood, just, _extremely_ pleased with himself to be waking up in bed with Jonathan Sims. 

Not that he _had_ anything to be so pleased about, mind. They’d barely had time to drop their bags and throw on their pyjamas before collapsing into sleep. Jon couldn’t even remember if they’d changed in the same room or not. Lord, he _really_ must have been exhausted.

He reached up his hand to Martin’s cheek, stroking his thumb slowly over the scraggly stubble that had popped up overnight. Martin’s breath hitched, and Jon risked a glance up at his eyes. Sheer morbid curiosity, paired with the fact that he knew - or at least trusted - that Martin wouldn’t be looking back.

Martin usually looked at his cheek or his nose. Jon knew this, and appreciated the gesture, though it was entirely unnecessary. So what Jon was _not_ expecting was for Martin to be looking at. 

His lips.

Ah. 

Yes.

Right. 

Okay. 

And now Jon was looking at _Martin’s_ lips too, and it’s not like he’d never looked at them before. Not like he’d never wanted to kiss Martin before, of course he had, obviously he had. But now he… could. They were safe, and it was quiet, and Martin had shifted just that tiniest bit closer. Tilted his head down.

It made something in his stomach swoop, and no, he _refused_ to call it butterflies. Just regular, good-old-fashioned nerves. 

_But come on, man, you’ve faced down literal monsters, and now you’re going to look at Martin Blackwood and let yourself be_ nervous _just because he so happens to be three inches away?_

Jon hesitated twice. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. 

“Yes, absolutely,” Martin said, before he was even finished.

And then Jon kissed him, before he was even finished. It was… nice. Jon refused to let this, at least, be hesitant, so he kissed him quite frankly, and Martin matched it. He hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, so it was a little odd to remember what it was like, but muscle memory seemed to be carrying him along well enough.

Until Martin started crying. 

Jon panicked briefly. “Oh, my god, Martin, are you- Are you alright?” Of all the things… _this_ had never happened before.

“I’m sorry,” Martin said, desperately swiping at his eyes, “It’s just… I haven’t… Until yesterday it was months since I even _touched_ anybody, let alone-” He took a shaky breath. “It’s just… It’s all a bit… much.”

“Oh! Right, right.” Jon pulled away, gave Martin some space to recover from the sensory overload.

Or, he would have, except Martin grabbed him round the waist and pulled him back in. “I didn’t say stop.”

Jon, more than willing to comply, tucked his face into the crook of Martin’s neck and rolled so he was lying more on top of him than beside him. He could feel Martin’s chest shaking with uneven breaths, and so he just let himself be held. Let himself press into Martin in his rumpled sleep shirt and breathe deeply.

Martin smelled like the most generic possible laundry detergent scent. There was also, obviously, that personal individual scent everyone had, but the detergent sort of came out on top of that. This was not, Jon reminded himself, the time to start getting romantic, but he did think he could stay this close to Martin forever. 

Eventually, Martin’s breathing evened out, and slowed down so much Jon thought he might have fallen back asleep. He started to pull away, and again, Martin’s arms tightened around him. 

“We have to get up eventually,” Jon said. 

Martin’s hands shifted and splayed out across Jon’s back. “Mm-mm. Loved you too long to let go of you now.”

Jon froze. A half second later, Martin did too, realizing what he’d said. They hadn’t talked about the almost-I-love-you from in the Lonely. Jon wasn’t even sure if Martin remembered it, and _he_ certainly wasn’t going to bring it up, just in case he hadn’t meant it. Or worse, in case he _had_ meant it, past tense and all. That Martin had loved him, at some point, but didn’t any more, and he’d missed his chance. 

Except he clearly hadn’t.

They’d only kissed once, barely talked about what any of this meant, hadn’t even brought up whether or not they were _together_ . This wasn’t the correct _order_ for any of this to go in. 

But Martin was warm, and his arms were strong - Jon got stuck there for a second. Martin was _strong_ . He’d never known how _strong_ he wasn, how could he have not known that? - and he smelled like nondescript laundry detergent, and the kissing had been, I don’t know, passable, but that was probably his fault, not Martin’s, and it was _comfortable_. God, he’d never had a first kiss that was anything short of panic-inducing from start to finish.

He propped himself up on hs elbows, looked at Martin dead in the bridge of his nose, and said “I love you, too.”

Martin looked like he was going to start crying again. “I think I knew that.”

“Well, now you _know_ you know.”

“Yeah.”

Jon tucked himself back into Martin’s neck. Martin kissed the top of his head, and he felt it all the way down to his toes. 

“I won’t lie,” Martin said, “When Peter offered to promote me there was a part of me that only took the job because it meant when you woke up you wouldn’t be my boss any more.”

Jon grinned. “Ah, yes. Personal relationships between those in managerial or supervisory roles and the employees who report to them-”

“May well interfere with the company culture of teamwork, the harmonious work environment, or the productivity of employees, and may be perceived as favouritism, misuse of authority, or potentially, sexual harassment,” Martin finished. “I should’ve known you’d have the Institute fraternization policy memorized.

“Mainly just that one bit,” Jon said. He rolled off of Martin and poked him in the chest. “Why do _you_ have it memorized?

Martin flushed a dark red. “Tim. He used to, ah, quote it at me? Whenever I started… pining too hard. His words, not mine.”

Jon raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t _laugh_ at me!” Martin scoffed.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!”

“No, I-” Jon ran a hand through his hair, noted Martin tracking the motion. “I used to do that to _him_ . When we worked together in research, we had a… “hot boss”. His words, not mine. He asked me if I knew the fraternization policy, so I looked it up and told him. He expressed disappointment that it meant he couldn’t date Jaime, and so he wilfully forgot it every few weeks to go flirt with them. I started reminding him about it every time he got that _look_.”

“Oh, my God,” Martin said. 

“Yes, funny that he started doing it to _you_. Hypocrite.”

“No, not that,” Martin said. “Jon. He was _hitting on you_.”

“What.”

Martin rolled onto his back and laughed. “Jon!”

“No. No, what? What, _Tim_?”

“Yes! Tim was into you for a good long while!”

“No.”

“We bonded over it and everything.”

“No, Tim was distinctly interested in _you_. Plus whatever he had going on with Sasha.”

Martin turned his head in surprise, and the two of them just lay there for a second. 

“Fuck, poor Tim,” Martin said. 

“Quite.”

“And okay, I’m sorry, but I’m still stuck on the fact that Timothy Stoker came up to you and said _Jon, you wouldn’t happen to know the Institute’s… fraternization policy_ ,” he waggled his eyebrows, leaned in close, and slid a finger down Jon’s arm from shoulder to elbow for emphasis.

“Well, he didn’t say it like _that_ ,” Jon snapped, but he couldn’t bring himself to put much fight into it.

“Hmm,” Martin hummed, still close, still with his hand on Jon’s elbow. “I’m going to kiss you now?”

“If you must,” muttered Jon, but his hands betrayed him by latching onto Martin’s shirt and pulling him in.

The second kiss was better. This was, in Jon’s experience, the usual progression of things. One of Martin’s hands slid round his waist and the other went to his hair, carding through in what was - if Jon guessed correctly - the fulfilment of a long-standing desire. 

Jon just clung on and let himself be swept up in it. _Now_ was the time to lose himself thinking about how strong Martin was, so he did. At some point he ran a hand down Martin’s arm and was rewarded with Martin tightening his grip in his hair, which felt. Good. _Very_ good. It was never the kissing, he remembered, always the things that came with it. Being held, feeling the weight of someone else, exploring the texture of their hair, their shoulders, their back-

Martin bit his lower lip.

He felt himself make some sort of noise in the back of his throat, and Martin immediately pulled away. 

“Sorry! I-” Martin swallowed. “I didn’t mean to push, if you’re not, ah, comfortable, I know you don’t-” He sighed. “Actually, I _don’t_ know what you... don’t.”

“Boundaries, yes,” Jon said. “Very important, we should talk about it, quick run down. Nothing below the belt, if you’re not certain do ask, I will tell you if something is wrong, _please_ kiss me again.” He tried to pull himself up, but Martin stayed stubbornly out of his reach. Jon was still short of breath, he could feel his heart pounding, his pulse jumping. And Martin, above him, framed by soft curls, his forearms resting on either side of Jon’s head. Something inside his chest itched. Good Lord. 

“Martin, I would love to sit you down and have a longer conversation about it, and I absolutely will, but right now you’ve got me in a position that is both rare and also very difficult to achieve.”

“And that is?”

Jon suddenly found that he’d lost the words to articulate it. It was one thing to simply act and react, actually vocalizing what he wanted would never cease to be embarrassing. He wasn’t sure _why_ it was embarrassing, it never embarrassed him when _other_ people were clear about their intentions. It was just so unusual for him to _have_ intentions, he supposed, he was never able to get any good practice in. 

“Ah… turned on?” Jon said, but it didn’t feel right. “Or, at least, as close to it as I ever get. Just-” He stared resolutely at Martins lips and at no other part of Martin’s face. He swallowed. “Just keep kissing me, I’ll let you know if I get bored.”

“ _Bored?”_

Jon shrugged. “It happens.”

Martin kissed him once, sweetly, on the lips. “I’ll try to keep it interesting, then.”

Jon glared at him a little. “Just do what you were doing before, it shouldn’t be that hard to replicate.”

Martin laughed, and kissed him. And kissed him. And-

“Oh,” Jon broke away. “And I didn’t actually mind the, ah, the teeth?”

Martin’s eyebrows shot up. “Can I kiss your neck?” He asked, which seemed completely unrelated. 

“Yes.”

“Can I _bite_ your neck?” 

Ah, so that’s where it connected. “We’ll see when we get there.”

“Can I-”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, love.”

Martin grinned. “Alright, yeah. Cool.”


End file.
